On My Own
by Ihsan997
Summary: Even during a war effort on another planet, regular life must carry on for Azeroth's civilians. Zulwatha just tunes the world out as she tries to raise her kids and run her household at Sen'jin City, but idiot customers, judgmental family members and nosy neighbors all get in the way. An oddly helpful stranger adds to the mix, leaving her suspicious and smitten at the same time.
1. Minor Assistance

**A/N: this is another story where I break my usual rule and post chapters before the entire thing is complete. Don't worry; my normal posting schedule for my main continuum shall continue as I have at least a year and a half worth of stories on my cloud, hard drive and flash drive. But I felt I needed something a little more light hearted and decided to post this now.**

 _March, year 31_

The afternoon was dusty in Sen'jin City. Nothing new there. The breeze was only light, but the landscape of Durotar caused even the slightest wind to disturb the particles of sand to be found near the shoreline and around the rockier landscape to the north. So much of the unsettled areas were made of dry, cracked land but a bit of sand always made its way in from unseen origins.

Not that the locals were bothered. Palm trees dotted the closest landscape to their original homeland, adding an almost subtropical flavor to the otherwise arid climate. Due to an edict made by the local elders, palm trees couldn't be cut down, thus preserving a bit of empty space for the sake of aestheticism and mental comfort in the otherwise crowded and expanding settlement. Very little of the city limits was left undeveloped in the aftermath of the Darkspear Rebellion; a fresh injection of Horde nationalism and industrious fervor mixed in with the natural boost to the postwar economy. A large number of tribespeople returned to Durotar from outer regions such as Northrend and Outland to take part in the revolution, as did copious numbers of tauren who had also taken part in overthrowing Hellscream. Even neighborhoods of orcs who had opposed the late dictator as well as blood elves had formed their own neighborhoods, and there were never any shortages of goblins anywhere; only the undead seemed to be in small number due to the heat.

That meant construction, crowding and noise. The open air lofts and longhouses of the jungle trolls covered almost every inch of the area save the roads and the patches of palm trees. Some of the structures had become grander than anything the Darkspear had known on their island across the ocean, and toward the center of the city the wealthier families built their wooden stilt houses into three tiers, and a few even stood four tiers tall. The longhouses of the tauren complemented the dwellings of the tribe nicely given the affinity of both peoples for longhouses, and the partially underground orc burrows proved a startling contrast near the city walls (orcs always preferred to live near walls and frontiers lest they miss out on repelling invaders). All that led to a great deal of foot traffic, noise pollution and kicked up dust in the busy streets of the city formerly known as a village.

Zulwatha leaned against the frame of the workshop's back door as she peeked down the back alleyway toward the side street. There were only a few feet of visibility from her vantage point, and between the barbecue grill restaurant and seed seller at the end of the alley, she could just barely make out the various colors and garments of the people walking by. Dust wafted up everywhere they walked, creating a slightly red tint to boots, feet and hooves as she stared.

Those breaks were the Darkspear woman's mental refuge whenever she was able to take a break for a few minutes. The rust colored sash and sarong she wore were conveniently colored; dust kicked up when she just stood at the back door and zoned out, but it failed to taint the uniform she had to wear at the pottery shop. Letting a tingling sensation wash over the back of her head, she savored the few minutes when she wouldn't be bothered by customers or potters. The latter weren't so bad; they tended to enjoy their work and only needed Zulwatha to inform them of the exact orders the shop had received, usually from people in the immediate neighborhood - bursting at the seams with a population nearly half that of Orgrimmar, Sen'jin City had three other workshops producing pottery from the abundant clay pits operating outside the city walls. When there weren't specific orders to fulfill, the potters would fill their time by making whatever struck their creative fancy. There were only two of them, a youngblood and an old veteran, but they were surprisingly motivated for troll males and were lucky enough to get paid for indulging in their shared hobby.

Customers, however, were much worse. When Zulwatha wasn't spending her time rearranging pieces that had been haphazardly picked up, carelessly glanced at and then improperly reshelved by flippant potential buyers, she was answering a hundred and one pointless questions by members of the nobility or explaining to deadbeats why they shouldn't be surprised that a clay pot would break when knocked off a table and onto the floor of their home.

A light blue brow with no hair furrowed into a frown as she overheard a few such customers gabbing just outside the shop door. She must have been looking out the back door a little too long; letting customers inspect the merchandise on display out front often led them to deal with it less carefully than they should.

"Look at this. It's so...small," muttered another Darkspear female in crisp, unaccented Zandali, a popular habit ever since the tribe had reasserted itself in the revolution. "Why would a water pot be so small? Who drinks a little bit of water? If I'm going for a drink, you know, I want to drink a gallon."

Her boyfriend sounded just as pretentious, and the way he spoke through his nose sounded as if it were permanently upturned. "I know, right? Maybe this is some sort of a baby cup." He picked up the intricately carved piece of pottery far more quickly than he should have, almost losing it in his big fingers.

"It's a flower pot. They come in multiple sizes."

Putting on her best smile, Zulwatha had already moved from the back door out the front and among the racks of smaller pieces on display beneath the centaurskin awning generating a bit of shade in front of the workshop. The two customers, both wielding spears despite the fact that they wore the earrings of upper class people, looked surprised to find the shop attendant standing before them, her arms folded pleasantly before her. As if already sensing the arrogant front, Zulwatha preemptively gave them her best fake smile.

Spoiled as any privileged young lady, the green haired female tried to turn up her sharp, triangular nose in a way she probably thought of as subtle. "Shopkeep, why does this drinking kettle have a hole in it?" the young woman asked without so much as an introduction. Although the term 'drinking kettle' didn't make any sense, she pointed toward the spout of the flower pot as she spoke, making her complete lack of knowing what on Azeroth she was talking about very clear.

"That's the spout. That's used to pour water onto the flowers." Zulwatha kept her winning smile even as she stated the obvious in a way that grated at the back of her ear canal, though the fact that the young lady was so clearly taken aback by her own cluelessness being revealed was a consolation.

"What? Spout?" she asked at first, before looking up to her boyfriend who actually did seem to understand what a flower pot was used for. "Oh...the spout! I'm sorry, it's just so...so small, that I wasn't sure what it's supposed to do. I mean...why is the flower kettle so small?"

Gritting her molar teeth slightly, Zulwatha bit back on the verbal slap fighting its way up from her throat and forced herself to provide service with a smile. "They come in multiple sizes," she repeated, remaining cool and telling herself she'd daydream of breaking the pot over the lady's head later.

Without so much as a thanks or no thanks, the green haired young lady promptly turned to her boyfriend whose mane had been combed to look like it hadn't been combed. "Let's go to that other place. The one that had bigger drinking kettles," she said as if Zulwatha wasn't even there, completely ignoring what she'd literally just been told.

"Yes, let's!" Strutting his lack of stuff, the young man led the way around the corner, in the completely opposite direction of where all the other pottery shops were but at least far away from the one where Zulwatha worked.

Huffing thankfully once he annoyance was gone, she quickly reshelved the flower pot before any bypassers who didn't plan on buying anything anyway tried to ask her questions about the merchandise and walked back inside. The management consisted of three investors - two goblins and an orc - and a local tribesman who just put the shop under his name for tax purposes and had nothing to do with the actual running of the store. The investors would have been irate that she'd let a potential buyer go without making a sales pitch, but they were all in the capitol. On the ground, she only had to deal with the local (and legal) owner who would have flipped the snooty young couple his outer finger, so she had nothing to worry about if such people didn't purchase anything.

Inside, the younger of the two potters was busy working on one of the more recent orders that wouldn't be due for another day. Looking up from his work station, he noticed the irritated look in Zulwatha's face as she swept off the counter opposite the front door. "They didn't like anything?" he asked a bit cheekily, much to his colleague's disapproval.

"Focus on what you're doing."

Sighing and speaking to nobody in general, Zulwatha pulled out a weathered stack of papers on a clipboard and began preparing to sign out of work for the day. Another shop assistant would be coming to fill in for her soon and she'd need to have everything ready to leave as soon as possible. "Typical stuck up nobles," she huffed while going through the motions of filling out her name and hours worked in Orcish. "I wish they'd stay in their own part of town."

A faded grey goatee wiggled as the older of the two potters wrinkled his long nose. Though he didn't even look up from his work, his attention was with the conversation, ever shifting as he multitasked rather easily. "We work for the best collective in town, and we don't even deal with these types that often. Just forget about the undesirable types and be happy that we're receiving so many orders," he lectured to the room in general. His tone was never condescending and she knew the old man was right, but that didn't make hearing it any easier.

Before Zulwatha even had the chance to nod or at least sigh in approval, she turned around in front of the counter and almost knocked over a small, thin figure that had been standing far too close.

"Hey!" she snapped instinctively, spinning around and then biting her tongue when she realized it was a tiny blood elf who was one of their most consistent customers. Despite the fact that Orcish was the official language of the Horde, both of them knew Common better and Zulwatha easily code switched out of Zandali. "Crystal! Sorry, I didn' see ya there."

Swaying on her feet in a way unlike the younger and more nimble elves, Crystal actually had to hold on to Zulwatha's wrist to avoid losing her balance. Old enough to remember the wars between forest trolls and the Sindorei, Crystal was ancient, visibly aged by elven standards and surprisingly non-racist toward the jungle trolls of the Horde. Blinking slowly as her old eyes adjusted to the lower light indoors, the blonde blood elf stared up at the much larger woman blankly in the closest expression to a smile she ever gave. "That's alright dearie, I guess I snuck up on you there," came back a soft, unweathered voice. "The family just wanted me to check on how the order is coming along."

She was referring, of course, to the shipping company her family ran out of Silvermoon; even after the cost of the voyage across the ocean, imported pottery from Durotar was still cheaper than the stuff made directly in the blood elf capitol and Crystal lived in Sen'jin City to handle procurement. Orders were always intact and on time but that didn't stop the small woman from coming to the store twice a day every single day to task about the order. Zulwatha suspected that Crystal was just bored but at least she was polite, and tolerated the excessive questions and desire for handholding the best she could.

"Tha order is fine, as ya can see right over here," she replied while sweeping her hand toward the two potters hard at work.

Before she had a chance to say anything else, Crystal had already fallen into her hundred and one questions routine. "So there are six tall water carrier jugs?" she asked while sucking on the handheld vapor machine producing some fel green smoke that sated the Sindorei magic addiction.

"Yep, those are already finished and stored back against tha wall, right behind there."

"And the handles are good and thick, right?"

"An inch in diameter each, yeah."

"And have they started on the eight medium sized pots for storing grain?"

"They're workin on those right now, ya can see-"

"Oh, that's wonderful! So have the twelve small flower pots been made?"

"Yeah, they're done." Zulwatha couldn't help but let out a little laugh at the laundry list Crystal had to go through every time. "See, they're already on tha shelf over there."

"And, and, about those medium sized pots. Those are for storing grain. It's very important that there aren't any cracks in them."

"Of course, there ain't never any cracks in our handiwork."

"Are you sure about that, dearie?"

"Yeah, of course, ya can come take a look over-"

"Oh no, that won't be necessary, I just had to be sure." The younger of the two potter's bit his tongue to avoid laughing out loud but was quickly silenced when the older one stepped on his foot. Unaware, Crystal continued going through her mental list. "So does that mean that the medium sized pots for storing grain aren't finished?"

"Yeah, they're workin on those right now."

"Oh, this store is a godsend, thank you all so much," Crystal cooed in a way far too enthusiastic for a conversation about clay pots. Out of nowhere, she switched the conversation to something much more personal for both her culture and that of the Darkspear. "Thawa, how are your kids? Does your son still have the problem with biting his nails?"

Glaring at the younger potter to make sure he wouldn't try to crack a joke, Zulwatha did her best to diffuse the topic. "Uh, yeah, but we're tryin ta get him ta stop that now-"

"When I was a little girl we used to put lemon juice on the fingernails of kids who bit their nails. It worked like a charm unless it was a kid who liked lemons."

"Yeah, well, I guess I might give that a-"

"Say Thawa, my nephew back in Silvermoon is still single."

At that, the younger potter intelligently held back as Zulwatha did her best to force another smile. She didn't know much about elven customs regarding divorce, but she surmised that they couldn't be too different from trollish ones - it wasn't a topic for casual conversation. "Best of luck ta him, Crystal," Zulwatha huffed in the most cordial voice she could muster when having her privacy invaded out in the open like that.

"He's very tall for our kind. He's almost this big!" Crystal held her hand about a foot above her own head, which was still about a foot and a half below Zulwatha's head, even when she slouched a bit in an attempt to relax. "Sometimes it's good to be open minded. After all, nobody wants to be alone, right?"

Gritting her teeth once more, Zulwatha reminded herself that Crystal was technically one of their kindest customers, and certainly didn't mean anything by the intrusion. "Some people are happy standing on their own without asking for help..." Zulwatha froze when she realized that by responding, she'd signaled to Crystal that the topic was open for discussion, a deathknell considering how nosy the old blood elf was. "I wish ya nephew all tha best," she mumbled, hoping that whatever Loa was observing the discussion would choose that moment to spark a fire or cause one of the shelves to fall loose, anything to distract Crystal from poking any further.

Such was not her luck. "So what's your mailing address? I can have him write you a letter!"

Just as the younger potter's badly dyed neon yellow mane started to bob as if he would laugh out loud, the young tauren female who was set to take over the shift from Zulwatha entered. Not only did her entrance signal that clocking out was imminent, but her greeting also diffused the barrage of laughter that Zulwatha would inevitably have had to diffuse in order to avoid offending the finicky customer.

"Good afternoon, miss Brightstar," the tauren said while moving over toward a closet in the back room used for changing.

"Oh, how nice to see you, dearie!" Crystal replied, and then immediately started following the tauren right into the back room as if it were normal for customers to go back there.

Although the younger potter was technically free to gut laugh as much as he wanted, he remained silent. Focused on clocking out of work and hastily escaping before Crystal could try to force some long distance pen pal relationship with a nephew who was probably as uninterested as Zulwatha was, the Darkspear female focused on her escape and forgot to watch the door. By the time she'd signed out, collected her hut keys and handbag and adjusted her outfit, another figure had stood behind her, though facing the other way, giving her pause since the tauren hadn't officially clocked in yet.

"Good afternoon!" came a raspy voice in Zandali that sounded kind of familiar but not really.

Sighing and shutting her eyes for a moment in preparation for another possible series of questions leading nowhere, Zulwatha turned and found a local man who also looked familiar but not really. Wearing a cotton shirt and pants, he looked rather out of place in a part of town occupied mostly by traditional craftsworkers. His head was shaved and he had a pencil protector in his shirt pocket, and looked a bit like a nerd. He was kind of handsome and looked like he'd be more so if he lifted weights (not that she cared, no, not at all) and had big eyes and a face as close as a troll could be to being described as 'pleasant.' She'd seen him around, but then again, Zulwatha had seen most locals around - she'd watched the village grow into a town and then a city.

Oh, and he was wearing shoes. Some of the Darkspear women wore sandals, herself included, but few of the women and none of the men wore shoes. The tribe usually made fun of people who wore shoes. She had no idea what to make of the oddball scanning the shop from the doorway.

"Can I help ya..." At first, she continued talking in Common, but realizing that she was speaking to another jungle troll, she switched back to Zandali. "Can I help you, sir?"

His ears twitched at the sound of her voice, but he didn't make eye contact. "Well, yes. Um." He tapped his lower lip with a finger as he browsed. Normally, Zulwatha quite enjoyed her job helping people find pieces of pottery that would best fit their houses, but after dealing with two snooty nobles and Crystal's unwelcome intrusion, she found herself tapping her foot as she wondered where the hell the tauren girl was. "I need to look at...decorative pottery." He sounded entirely unsure of what he wanted, which was the most frustrating kind of customer to deal with.

No longer patient enough when her shift was over, Zulwatha fought the urge to check on the back room and shouldered her handbag. "We have a rather large array of decorative pieces, sir. Perhaps a brief look around will help you have a better idea of what it is you need to complete your home decor," she practically droned, towing the management's slogans without her usual motivation.

Finally, the strange man turned toward her but looked at the counter instead of directly at her. "Well...yes, that might work. Where are-"

"But really, are you sure that the medium sized pots for storing grain don't have any cracks?"

Crystal's usually pleasant voice echoed in an unpleasant way as she followed the tauren girl out of the back room, speaking rather loudly for an elf and following the poor attendant all the way to the counter before the young lady had even clocked in to work. The area between the front door became rather crowded as three large persons and a waifish elf vaping up a storm all tried to go about their business and engage in two forced conversations, all to the soundtrack of the two craftsmen at the other end of the workshop busy at their foot powered potter's wheels.

"So, um...ack," the shoe wearing man hacked while trying to both talk and blow away Crystal's fel vapor at the same time. "On which shelves can I find the decorative pieces?"

"I just arrived here, Crystal. You've been with me since I got to work. I don't know any more about the condition of the pots than you."

"The decorative pieces-"

"Thawa, are you sure that there aren't any cracks in the medium sized pots that will be used for storing grain?"

"Taia wani wang...yeah Crystal, I'm sure there ain't."

"Come on, miss Crystal, let's go take a look at the pots together."

"Thank you dearie, I love to see how this is done!"

"Should I come back at another time?"

Zulwatha's head was spinning from the rapid exchange and she had to blink and look around to figure out that the tauren and blood elf had sauntered over to the potters' wheels and were no longer talking to her. The Darkspear customer was, however, and his time he was looking right at her. Despite his unassuming demeanor, she felt the pressure to help a potential buyer right when she was trying to escape for the day. His question, however, provided a bit of respite at least.

"I'm sorry, sir?" she asked him, trying to get her bearings at least, if not her patience.

"Your shop seems a little busy is all. Oh! Not that I'm not interested in the pots. Because I am."

His indecision and mincing of words wasn't helping her to escape any quicker, and Zulwatha did her best to deflect the questions. "I'm an employee of the shop, sir, not the owner; my associate here is multilingual and as capable of assisting you as I." She motioned to her tauren colleague, shamelessly passing the responsibility away from herself.

"Ah, you're going home for the day, I take it?"

"Huh?"

Not a hint of ill intentions or deviousness appeared in the strange man's voice or face, but the question was as nosy as Crystal's, and unlike the small elf, Zulwatha didn't actually know the gangley tribesman before her. Long ago, she'd learned that even within the tribe strangers couldn't be trusted. Despite intuition giving her no inkling that the man was anyone to worry about, she still couldn't discuss personal matters with a stranger, and a customer no less. Her work hours were her business.

"My associate is as capable of assisting you as I," she repeated dryly.

As Crystal chattered in the background, the oddball by the front door looked at the counter again. Though his expression stayed the same his posture shifted somewhat, like he was embarrassed about something. "Right, of course. Well, don't let me keep you then," he mumbled, and promptly stepped out the front door and began looking through the shelves outside by himself. Whether he bought anything or not was the problem of the tauren girl now - Lily, or Lorelei, or Lilac was possibly her name - and not Zulwatha's.

Before she could make yet another attempted escaped, the badly dyed neon yellow mohawk shifted as the younger of the two potters looked her way. "I think you have an admirer!" he snickered in Zandali. His voice was low enough not to be heard by the man outside but loud enough that his bemusement was apparent.

"Shut it, you," Zulwatha snapped at him in Zandali before then code switching into Common again. "Crystal, I'll be seeyin ya later."

"Oh Thawa, I didn't get your mailing address yet! You know, my nephew can write in six different alphabets." This time even the older of the two potters chuckled a bit, only adding to Zulwatha's irritation at her private life becoming a topic of public debate.

"Aw, ya know Crystal, I just changed my box number at tha post office. Lemme get back ta ya on that," Zulwatha lied through her teeth, feeling absolutely no guilt about it at all.

Much to her chagrin, the blood elf began trying to walk back toward the counter as if to hold Zulwatha a little bit longer for another round of questioning. As if a Loa had indeed responded to her call, Crystal had ended up positioned between the tauren girl, the older potter's potter's wheel and a shelf of generic clay bowls that all coalesced to form a prison for chatterboxes. Seizing the moment, Zulwatha bolted out the door, past the Darkspear man browsing out front and into the dirt road full of people shopping for handmade arts and crafts in the 'old' section of the city. Crystal began talking loudly from inside the shop, possibly at Zulwatha or possibly at someone else, but she didn't care; her shift was over and it wasn't her fault if, after a slow day, everybody decided to show up in her last fifteen minutes of work.

Out on the main road, the sun began to shine a little less heat onto the cracked soil around the palm trees, and people became a bit more active as the day cooled off. Zulwatha, however, had other things on her mind. With two children to pick up from her sister's house and scorpid meat she'd promised to cook for them that night, her day hadn't ended yet. Shaking a single bead of sweat from her brow as she hurried across town, she shouldered her handbag again and tried to ignore the mild fatigue. All things considered, she had a job that wasn't physically demanding and two children who were shockingly unrowdy for trolls of any type. She breathed deep and reminded herself to slow down just a little bit; plenty of people could try to keep her at work, but nobody could rush her in life except herself.


	2. Fatigue

The heat of the day had already died out in Sen'jin City that afternoon. Most people - though not all - had finished their daily chores and tasks and were either heading toward the quarter of the city referred to as the 'evening district' - a rather tame collection of grocers and restaurants despite the name - or to their homes to retire for the coming evening. There was foot traffic, but nobody seemed to be rushing and there was less dust being kicked up on the streets.

Unlike the people around her, however, Zulwatha kept a brisk pace. Work and family kept her busy, and every minute she could save during the day meant an extra minute she had to relax at home. Various wooden huts surrounded by fenceposts or simple natural walls of greenery sped by as she navigated her way toward her sister's neighborhood. A handful of stores and workshops were made of mud bricks, though never any houses - most architecture was Darkspear, a minority of it Orcish or tauren, all three styles consisting of wood, plant matter and animal skins. The city was far superior to anything the tribe had built back where she'd grown up; there were never multi-tiered huts when she'd been young, and there had never been enough fur and leather to go around to actually provide real privacy for the interior of the dwellings. Zulwatha was by no means a patriot or at all politically enlightened, but she did admire the modernizing of the aesthetic designs she'd grown up around.

She knew for sure she was in her sister's working class neighborhood when the highest huts were only two tiers plus a ground floor, and the fences served more to keep the numerous small livestock animals inside the yards rather than provide any real privacy. The streets were narrower, the houses were closer together, there were more unemployed older people sitting around on street corners yet strangely the sides of the streets and the yards of the inhabitants were somehow the greenest part of the city. From the end of her sister's small street, Zulwatha could already see her six year old daughter joking with neighborhood children.

"My mama's home, I'll see you tomorrow!" said Rima, the shy six year old who had her biological father's scarlet mane. It wafted behind her as she ran to her mother, along with the long tribal gown that draped over her shoulders, flowed halfway down her shins and was tucked in by her belt and a shoulder strap. She was barefoot like the rest of the children, and reached her mother at a speed that could only mean she was ready for dinner. "Mama, they're teaching me to read at school!"

Zulwatha bent down to give the proud girl a hug despite the ache in her lower back. She was just as happy considering the fact that Rima had entered school a year late due to the political upheaval of Hellscream's overthrow; any amount of learning was a cause for at least minor celebration. "That's wonderful news, sweetheart. You can teach me what you learned after we finally unwrap that rock candy tonight."

"Thank you mama, I was real good! I didn't let Makara touch it!"

Rima's brother, almost five, had been spoiled by the extended family; Zulwatha had no doubt that her son probably tried to sneak into the candy, but she was careful not to take sides. "I'm sure neither of you did," she chuckled while taking the girl by the hand. "Come on, let me talk to your aunt for a bit before we go home."

The two of them walked up the planks forming the steps to the first tier of the house, consisting of one hut for the future children to sleep in, another for storing personal items and entertaining guests, and a covered wooden walkway connecting the two; like most of the working class, the kitchen was in the backyard, a simple grassy area covered by a centaurskin tarp and surrounded by domestic chickens and across from the outhouse. Mira, the younger of Zulwatha's two sisters and the second youngest of all five surviving siblings, sat in a hammock and watched Makara pick up the chickens one by one and then squeeze them between his palms to see which ones tried to snuggle up to him and which ones panicked and almost had seizures. Zulwatha absolutely never allowed him to tease animals like that, but when she was relying on her sister to watch him while she was at work, she found herself hesitating to protest her sister's childcare ethics.

"This one likes me - mama, I fixed the fence today!" the little boy beamed as he carelessly tossed the chicken aside. "See!" Before he even ran to hug his mother, he pointed to a spot on his aunt's fenceposts separating her backyard from that of her neighbors. It looked like he'd carved a hole in one of the posts with an object he shouldn't have been allowed near, and then shoved it full of leaves. "I fixed it!"

"You...did a great job, honey, just be careful when you're fixing things," Zulwatha stammered, not knowing whether she should openly praise the act or not. She swiftly bent over to give the boy a hug and ushered him back through the huts and toward the street out front, where there were more adults watching and he'd be unlikely to get into too much trouble.

Mira checked the sundial near her hammock and slowly got up. "I don't know where the time goes. Some days I wish I could just kidnap your kids!" she laughed while stretching her back. Beneath her more conservative than usual long dress, the vague outline of a baby bump could already be seen. There was no telling how early it was, though - she and her husband had no idea when she'd gotten pregnant nor did they ever bother discussing how many children they wanted and when.

"Sometimes I might not even feel like stopping you. They work for food, by the way," Zulwatha joked as the two of them walked to the front steps and watched the two of them run around the front yard.

"Do you want to wait for them to burn a little more energy?"

"Oh, I talk in jest. They're not that difficult once they're back in their own home. I'm in no rush to start walking again, though - as long as I'm away from work, I'm relaxing."

The two of them watched the sister and brother tumble around on the grass a few more minutes before Mira shifted as if she remembered something.

"Next weekend, my Dex will be working an extra shift at the shipyard, and it will have been a month since Quetzal's last deployment," Mira said in regard to her husband and their youngest brother respectively. "Mom is having a dinner at the old house."

"So, wait...she's having a dinner because her newest son in law and her favorite son won't be around?" Zulwatha's expression was one of incredulity, both at the weird reason for a dinner and the fact that her sister would think it would matter.

"You know mom, she never passes an opportunity to celebrate something. She loves big get togethers."

Though Zulwatha tempered her tone of voice, a bit of bitterness did make its way to the surface. "I'm aware of that. Rima and Makara tell me regularly about all the other, smaller dinners that I'm never invited to. Their cousins talk." Guilt nipped at her for having dampened her sister's formerly cheery mood, but the amount of baggage between her and her mother was considerable to say the least.

Undaunted, Mira wouldn't drop the subject. "She asked for you to come specifically. Things have gotten real better now that you're living on your own again; when you don't see her every day...or, week, I guess, she's bound to miss you more."

"Did she ask for me specifically, or for her grandkids?"

"You. And her grandkids. But mom also asked about you." Mira began shaking Zulwatha by the elbow. "Come on, come. You still have to see her every now and then."

Pursing her lips for a moment, Zulwatha focused on her two children and tried not to think about her feelings regarding her mother, her family in general and a lot of acrimony over the choice she'd made to get divorced. "I suppose so..." she murmured. Defeat rang in her tone as she already had the feeling that, no matter what, she'd end up going anyway, and it would be an uncomfortable night.

Mira, however, seemed delighted. "Okay, so can I tell her that you're coming? She's actually bugged me about it more than once and tomorrow I have to help her wash that big carpet she's kept in the den for ten or fifty or a hundred years or whatever. She'll be mad if I won't have gotten an answer for her."

The sky began to darken, and very soon the street torches would be lit and security officers would be roaming the streets. They were always polite people, but it was generally understood that law abiding citizens weren't the types to wander around at night. "Alright, tell mom I'm coming, and let me go get these two in bed," Zulwatha sighed as she straightened for a minute before hugging her sister goodbye.

"Oh, and don't bring anything. Mom takes being the hostess seriously, she won't want anybody else to contribute to the food!" Mira shouted from her door flap before disappearing inside.

"Is it time for supper?" Rima asked excitedly as Zulwatha took both children by the shoulder and nudged them in the direction of home.

"Once we're home, it's time for supper and then bed. It's already dark outside."

Since they lived only one neighborhood over from Mira, Zulwatha felt like she didn't need to rush for the first time that day. It was a nice walk over; the two subdivisions were separated by a long ditch the local laborers had dug referred to as a 'retention ditch.' She'd never heard the term before, but apparently all the streets had been pounded such that on the few occasions in the year when it did rain in Durotar, the water would all flow toward the ditch. That ditch led out through the city wall and into a few patches outside the walls where the orcs grew bananas, coconuts and yams. Nobody paid much attention to the construction or the result, but for some reason it did cause a lot more greenery to grow on that part of town, and her neighborhood was almost as reminiscent of Stranglethorn Vale as Mira's.

The entire way back, both of her children spoke of various different friends they had in the neighborhood, who said what, who told on who and who had become mortal adversaries. Zulwatha could never remember all of the names exactly but the stories were generally entertaining, if embellished, and she had no difficulty asking prompt questions for the entire walk back.

By the time they reached home, it was so late that the children and even the mother herself were yawning. As was their habit on work days, they ended up eating processed food from goblin merchants. Since there was no time to cook except in the weekends, their meals for the beginning of the week were generally either casserole leftovers or cheap packaged food full of sugar and fat. It was by no means ideal, but it was still a much better living situation than ninety percent of Azeroth's population, as Zulwatha always reminded herself.

Although their property was the same size as Mira's, the entire second tier was unfurnished and without tarps or privacy covers, like a few other households in the neighborhood. After a rough few years living at a home partially owned by her ex-husband's mother, Zulwatha had sold her half before moving in with her own parents. That didn't work out for obvious reasons, and she ended up renting a nearby apartment with another single mother family for a few years. After the Seige of Orgrimmar, the economic depression from Hellscream's insanity was followed by a boom in Horde territory as trade resumed, and she'd bought her current house cash just after the war, when the bust had ended but minted coins were still scarce and people were trying to dump properties they didn't want close to where the worst of the fighting had been. Since she'd bought it through a listing held by a goblin who only represented sellers, she had no idea if the house had even been lived in, but she could venture a guess that the answer was no given the house's unfurnished state. Most likely it had been built by skilled workers living elsewhere who wanted property in a more stereotypically Darkspear settlement but whose plans had been quashed by the war; it wasn't a rare story at all, similar to Rima's having missed a year of school.

Rima and Makara went straight through the walkways of the house to the backyard, each having already learned how to prepare food lest their mother was too busy. They easily took to the responsibility - even Makara as long as he was in his own home - and it gave Zulwatha the occasional minute in which she could breathe.

It only took her a minute to go into the sleeping hut, change into a faded but still good house blouse that felt more comfortable than it looked and then enter the backyard, yet her two children had already begun preparing supper for that night. Torches had been lit on their street and the opposite street on the other side of the house behind theirs, providing just enough light for her to see that her children had stuffed the pith of a sago tree, half a mashed jumbo yam, dried bread chips processed at a factory just outside of Orgrimmar and almond butter that whatever goblin had manufactured it added way too much sugar to. A few years prior she might have balked at such an odd mix, but the responsibility and time constraints of raising two children without the help of her family caused certain compromises to be made.

Once the three of them had finished serving themselves, they sat down in the grass and ate a little too quickly before any of them spoke. "Rima, tell me what you learned today," Zulwatha finally asked after having eaten most of the contents of her own small dish.

"We learned numbers in Zandali and Orcish," the girl smacked in response. She'd developed a great talent for talking with a mouth full of food while preventing any of it from spilling out onto her lips. "They look very different, so they drew dots next to the numbers and the dots were the same as the numbers they were next to."

"Can you show me the numbers here, dear?" Zulwatha handed Rima a stick and motioned toward a small patch where the grass hadn't entirely grown in yet.

"Thanks, mama."

Eager to show off what she'd learned, Rima began poking dots into the dirt and carving symbols next to them. Zulwatha had never been taught to read herself, and had only taught herself the basics after her realization that living at her mother's house as an adult would drive her insane. Those basics had helped her find work where she needed to count and read names, though given how busy she was during the day, watching Rima demonstrate what she'd learned each day was her only chance to revise what she knew.

Zulwatha recognized the numbers for the most part, but her young daughter's strokes and handwriting were neater and more precise than her own. "That's zero through nine; very good, dear. Makara, come look; do you recognize any of these?" she asked her son, doing her best to keep him involved.

The boy stopped chewing for a moment to inspect all the lines draw in the dirt. His brows furrowed as if he'd seen the writing before. "That's one," he said correctly while pointing to one of the characters.

"And do you recognize the others?"

For a few more seconds, Makara gave the marks in the dirt another good look. When he appeared perplexed, he began to point to a few of them randomly. "I know this one, and this one, and this one," he claimed at rapid fire speed, not even pointing clearly at one or the other.

"But I bet you don't know this," Rima shot back cheekily. A second later and she was carving more hatch marks into the ground on the other side of the dots, these ones unfamiliar even to Zulwatha.

"Is this Orcish, dear?"

"Yes! They taught me the numbers!" Rima continued carving with the stick until she finished from zero to nine, and then proceeded to enumerate each symbol to her mother.

Although Zulwatha could speak Orcish simply from natural interaction after her people joined the Horde, she certainly couldn't read it, and she still didn't even consider herself quite proficient at reading in her own language. On the other hand, her children barely spoke two words of Orcish yet there her daughter was counting in the language. Her eyes lit up at the same time Rima's did when the six year old pronounced each of the numbers with only moderate difficulty and an accent which sounded passable. Never would Zulwatha have imagined, even just a few years ago before she'd become a mother, that she'd raise a girl who learned how to read.

"I'm so proud of you, dear. I hope you'll be able to teach me and your brother all of this one day." At her comment, her daughter immediately blushed and looked down bashfully, failing to find a suitable response utter than a meek utterance of her thanks.

"I don't want Rima to teach me," Makara protested. "I want to go to school too."

"You will next year, don't worry," she reassured him. "You both need to go to school and get good jobs so you can take care of me and I can sit at home and criticize your choice in friends and clothing."

Makara didn't quite understand the joke, but Rima seemed to. "What?!" she blurted out, letting the last bit of almond butter smudge her lower lip this time.

Zulwatha's tusks curled up and she laughed so hard her head tilted back. "I'm joking, don't worry. I like my job anyway, so I won't have time to pick at your clothes. Come on, let's finish and clean up. It's past bed time."

* * *

It only took a few minutes for the family to straighten up the dining area in the backyard and return to the sleeping hut where Rima and Makara slept in hammocks hung between the wall posts and Zulwatha slept on a rather comfy feather mattress that lied on the floor. Though the torches on the street out front would burn all night, the leather tarps they could pull down over the hut covered most openings, and they had a rather dark place to sleep. The walkway leading toward the storage hut and front entry was built open to the air, but she'd taken the tarps that should have been for the second tier huts and hung them over it to provide even more darkness. It looked tacky from the outside, but then again so did half the other houses in the neighborhood.

Normally, Makara would beg for a story before he slept, but due to the late hour he nodded off rather quickly that time. His hammock swayed ever so slightly every time he breathed, relaxing him and his mother as she watched. One of the guards passed in between their house and the torch outside, and the sliver of dim light that had found its way through some sort of opening disappeared before washing over her face momentarily. She was barely half conscious, fighting heavy eyelids in vain as her body already went pleasantly limp.

She appeared to either be squinting or closing her eyes entirely when she spoke. "Thanks mama," she murmured just as her head lolled.

"You're always welcome, dear." In truth, Zulwatha didn't know what she was being thanked for but the way her daughter whispered it just before passing out was priceless nonetheless.

She shifted on her mattress beneath her children. Her heels hurt, her lower back ached, her calves felt like she'd done a long workout and she had a mild migraine, but everything felt better than how it had been a few months before. Watching her children, she wondered what sort of opportunities they'd have that she didn't. It almost made her spontaneously cry with joy when she thought about it, though she never did as she never had enough time or privacy to do so. All day she was on her feet somewhere, and the weekends were her only time to crash. Of course, her sister helped quite a bit, and her coworkers were all supportive of each other should anyone need a day off.

Regardless, those moments where she waited to fall asleep after her children were when she felt the most alone. It was ultimately by her choice; for too long, she'd relied on others and ended up indebted and pressured. Controlled. It had been a good deal of time since she'd taken control of her own life and she wouldn't change it for the world. But those moments before she fell asleep at night were stark reminders that, now that she was stable and mostly reliant on herself only, there was something missing. She didn't know what it was or if she'd even have time to find out, but it made its absence known as she let the rocking of her children's hammocks mesmerize her. Searching for what that was would have to wait...she needed a few more inches of breathing room.


	3. Names

From the main street of the pottery shop, Zulwatha had a clear view of the nearest major intersection in the area. Foot traffic was light just after noon, and a large portion of the locals were either in siesta mode or preparing for lunch at home. All the better; it made trying to find her habitually late and somewhat unreliable brother all the easier given the lack of foot traffic.

The heat was strongest at that time of the day, and she was ever grateful that her work uniform wasn't as conservative as those worn at some of the other crafts stores in town. Even under the leather awning covering the front yard of the workshop, the Durotar heat was intense and she found herself wiping her temple with a handkerchief even in the shade. The sandals she was holding on to for her sister in law weren't cumbersome or any sort of a bother, but Zulwatha preferred not to hold on to the possessions of others. Inevitably, she found herself stressing over keeping the objects safe - from what, she did not know - and constantly checking the sundial or the mechanical gnomish designed clock to count how many minutes late someone was picking up their belongings from her. One of the downsides of being trustworthy with other people's things was constantly being asked to hold on to other people's things.

Fortunately, most of the shop's customers had chosen to show up early that morning, and by noon they had already reached their target for the amount of merchandise they aimed to sell every week day. A lull in the flow of browsers and buyers settled in, granting her the time to hand off the sandals to her brother and then take her lunch break.

As soon as he actually showed up to take the sandals, of course.

Apparently, the older of the two potters at work inside noticed her absence - quite often, the two of them became so entranced by their work that they didn't notice her or the customers. "Dear, your brother will come to the shop whether you see him first or not; there's no reason to let yourself languish outside," he stated from inside in a raised voice. Normally she wouldn't allow an unrelated man to refer to her as dear, though in the case of the well intentioned old potter with the grey goatee, an exception could be made.

Seeing no argument against what he'd said, Zulwatha stepped back inside. "I suppose your right. I just hope he comes soon; I don't want to leave and miss him when he drops by."

"His fault if he's late and missed you," the old potter replied without looking up from his work.

"Not in the eyes of a family like mine. Responsibility goes out the window." She regretted what she'd said just after saying it, chiding herself quietly for making negative comments about her own family in front of someone unrelated. "Him and his wife didn't want to fix the sandals until I mentioned I could get a discount at a place I always go to. I sort of got myself trapped in this one."

The two potters just continued their work. The older man grunted perhaps in affirmation that he'd heard her, but not necessarily that he agreed with her blaming of herself; the younger looked like he was about to say something, but shut his mouth at the last second and just continued working.

All for the better, Zulwatha thought. He was a great worker but not the best at giving advice. Stashing the sandals beneath the counter, she resigned herself to finding something else to occupy her time with in the shop until her brother showed up.

She didn't have to wait long. Outside the doorway, a shadow loomed in the shape of a local man carrying multiple objects in his arms. An internal groan rang out in her mind and she could already tell that it was someone who had come to complain.

"Good morning, sir," Zulwatha beamed as politely as she could, "and welcome to-"

"A shop that sells poor quality materials," the indignant Darkspear man interrupted as he laid four shattered pieces of a tall jug used for carrying water long distances on the counter. Without even looking up, the man began to arrange the pieces in some strange order as if the entire world could stop and wait according to his schedule. "This water jug is wrong," the man tried to explain, failing miserably. The older of the two potters continued his work, but his ears pricked up at the insult thrown toward the quality of their product.

Her patience a bit thin when she was nervously awaiting the arrival of her brother and the start of her lunch break, Zulwatha moved to cut off the man's coming rant. "Sir, what exactly happened that caused the jug to break?" she asked calmly.

"Well it isn't a good jug so it broke. I mean, look at it." The man's tone was almost incredulous as he spoke, as if he couldn't believe that someone would actually question him.

"How did it break?"

A look of pure disbelief spread across the whiner's face, but he appeared to be working hard to keep his cool. "It fell off the balcony, how else could it have happened?"

"Alright, I understand what happened now. And I am very sorry that your jug is broken, but if pottery made from any material fell from a balcony to the ground below, it would shatter. Did you purchase a warranty?"

"What? What the...? What?" The tribes man's big eyeballs squinted into small coin slots as a vein in his temple popped out a bit. "Did I buy a warranty? No, I didn't buy a warranty for a five silver water jug!"

The two potters, hard at work producing the shop's pottery, began to work even faster in irritation at the whiner's insults to their work. Not wanting an argument to break out, Zulwatha tried diffusing the situation the best she could, and her brother's truancy was quickly forgotten. "Well sir, unfortunately there isn't much I can do for you if you don't have a warranty; we aren't responsible for the wind, or however the edge of your balcony is constructed; perhaps you should contact the balcony shop and demand a refund from them." Just as she made her subtle jab back, the tauren that shared attendant duties with Zulwatha - Sequoia might have been her name, or something like that with an S - walked in and rolled her eyes, already discerning what exactly was happening.

The jab was, apparently, too subtle for the whiny customer who made no move to collect the pieces of the broken jug from the counter. "Shows what you know; balconies aren't sold in shops!" he sneered, much to the amusement of the younger potter, who snickered unnoticed at the disgruntled customer.

Breathe in, breathe out; Zulwatha repeated the mantra to herself as she forced herself to smile before she told the customer off. There was the off chance that he could be placated by a keychain or other cheap trinket, and would most likely return to buy more jugs the week after. Dealing with the insults was just a part of weathering the storm, though she found herself wondering what was taking Saqqara or whatever her name was so long to finish up in the dressing room and take over the counter so Zulwatha could escape.

Before she could try to pacify the whiner, a shadow bearing an oddly familiar gait poked across the doorway, and the sound of two toed troll shoes pattered on the gravel beneath the shop's awning out front.

"Um...excuse me, miss?" the raspy voice asked almost timidly from the front doorway. "Do you have a sec...can you answer a few questions about the pieces out front? I'd like to purchase pottery with a warranty."

It was the cute nerd who had stopped by the shop the previous week to ask odd questions. His shoeclad feet contrasted with the bare, calloused feet of the whiner as much as their attitudes did. There was a sympathetic look on the shorter but kinder man's face, though Zulwatha had difficulty focusing on his expression due to the fact that his shirt was tucked into his pants. She'd seen blood elves and some of the orcs wearing their shirts on the inside and pants on the outside before, but never a jungle troll; most of the men didn't even wear shirts at all. It just looked so weird to her on a man of her own race.

Seizing the opportunity before she lost it, Zulwatha turned on her cold shoulder and busy shopkeeper mode. "Yes sir, I would be glad to assist you in actually buying something," she replied while walking toward the doorway, almost surprising herself by how passive aggressive she sounded. She didn't like behaving in such a way, but she had a feeling that the disgruntled customer wouldn't take the hint any other way.

Challenge accepted; the whiner stared daggers at the nerd just as Sarasota clopped out of the dressing room. "Hey, I'm not done yet!" the gangly whiner griped after the pair as they exited the shop. From the outside, Zulwatha could hear the tauren asking who left their junk in the counter, leading to more complaining from the customer and finally some retorts from the two potters, who had heard enough complaints about their craftwork for the day.

Outside, the strange man with his shirt inside of his pants and his pants worn higher than was the style for most of their kind scanned the racks of pottery on display on the front patio. He looked a little lost despite having asked for assistance, and Zulwatha began to wonder if he was the type to forget about things he had just been looking at.

"So, um...hi! And, do these pots actually come with warranties?" he asked, tapping his finger on his lips as he appeared to ponder which piece of pottery he actually wanted to buy.

For a moment, she examined the man's behavior, wondering what exactly he wanted - he didn't seem to even know what he planned to ask. "Well, there is fine print on one of the form letters tacked to the wall inside - behind the counter. Our policy is that bulk orders can be covered by warranty, if you're interested in purchasing a dozen pieces or more at once," she explained, becoming more convinced that the strange man didn't know what he wanted.

"So a warranty couldn't really cover that guy's broken jug, then; could it?" the nerd asked with a grin. His teeth were perfectly white, and his relatively long tusks in relation to his height almost looked like they were polished. It was a far cry from the guys in Zulwatha's lower class neighborhood who often only brushed every two days or so.

Immediately, she stiffened up; she didn't know if the strange man was a secret shopper sent by management to check on policy enforcement. That hadn't occurred at their shop, but she'd heard about it from her friends, most of whom were also working in sales or services around town; if she wasn't careful, she could be entrapped. "Oh...uh...you heard that part of the conversation?" she asked, unable to hide her nervousness.

Such anxiety quickly filtered out of her system at the strange man's suddenly very casual demeanor. Clasping his wrists behind his back, he leaned back and spoke as if he was letting her on the inside of an inside joke. "Well, I was actually having my compass re calibrated at the workshop across the little street here." She had no idea what that meant, but he pointed to the goblin owned workshop further down the street that was constantly emitting noise, static and sparks. "I overheard that guy in there hassling you and thought you could use a break," the nerd laughed. Although he was thin, he somehow still had very slight dimples that showed when he smiled wide enough.

Still suspicious - laughing at his comment would mean laughing at a customer, which none of them were supposed to do - she tried to let out a polite chuckle. "Well, I can't complain about being given a break..." Her voice trailed off when she couldn't think of what else would be safe to say; she couldn't talk about the whiner inside safely, and asking him if he was sure that he didn't intend to buy anything would come off as ungrateful for the quick save from unpleasantness.

The two of them continued standing next to each other, and the man looked down in a way which was almost timid but not quite again. "I'm Taro, by the way. My work isn't near here, but I visit that repair shop frequently," he mumbled without making eye contact.

Forward but shy, she thought. At no point did she ever respond to personal comments from strangers, and truth be told, she didn't even like customers to know her name. One never knew if other people would take certain statements the wrong way and become friendly, annoying or nosy, and Zulwatha had no shortage of nosy people in her life.

But...he was nice, and seemed rather harmless. There was no reason to be rude. "I'm Zulwatha. And I work at the pottery shop."

"You don't say? I was wondering why you're here every day," Taro answered, still looking down but speaking with a little more confidence in his voice.

"Yeah, that's what the uniform is for," she replied, tugging the strap of the sash that all female employees wore. "I wouldn't wear an outfit like this otherwise..." She trailed off again, immediately asking herself why she'd bring up what she did or didn't wear outside of work with a man she didn't really know. Luckily, he didn't take it as an invitation to make comments on her clothing or appearance.

"Well, it's a...a nice shop, what you all have here. I could use some new pottery for my place now; it's a little empty."

Just as a lull began working its way in the conversation, a sunset orange mohawk the same color as Zulwatha's mane flashed at the end of the street, and she remembered that she couldn't start her lunch break until her brother picked up his wife's sandals. "Hey, that's my brother at the end of the street. I need to get something from inside and hand it to him and then...we're having lunch." Technically a white lie as she didn't enjoy socializing with any of her four siblings other than Mira, but Zulwatha was ever mindful of letting strangers know that she might be eating or going to any public place alone.

"Ah, it seems you're saved from that guy in the shop once again."

"Yes, just at the right time," she chuckled openly, relaxed enough not to worry about Taro possibly being a secret shopper.

When he didn't bid her farewell right away, she remained standing next to him as her brother approached, not wanting to blow the man off since he looked like he wanted to say something. "That guy is still in there; would you prefer if I walk inside first and pretend to browse so he doesn't see you when you get that thing for your brother?" Taro offered.

This time, she was the one that grinned. "You're not obligated to do that...but seriously, I would appreciate not having to deal with him again before I leave."

"Don't worry about it; it costs me nothing and helps someone else out. Here." At that, Taro promptly stepped inside, and Zulwatha noticed that the complainer had already cleaned his broken jug pieces off of the counter.

Not wanting to waste time, she filed in after Taro, who was using his frame to block the doorway and part of the counter. The space to squeeze in to the shop was so narrow that she practically had to brush up against his back, and she noticed that he smelled not only like the musk typical of male trolls but also of aftershave and some other scent. Successfully, she grabbed the sandals in a bag and exited unseen, save by Taro who surreptitiously winked at her as she left.

Her older brother, and the absolute oldest of the five siblings in their family, had all but reached the shop by the time she made her way off the patio. As tall as her ex husband and built for the manual labor he performed constructing houses and other buildings, Julando wore no shirt or shoes and was very much the opposite of Taro. Without even greeting her, he took the bag of sandals and stood in place to inspect them even when Zulwatha continued walking past him to find a restaurant cool enough at that time of day.

Just as she moved away from him, he took notice. "Hey," he called after her without following. "Are you going to eat lunch now?" he asked.

"Yes, it's about that time; I have to get back to work in less than an hour," she replied, holding her tongue from adding that the reason was his lateness.

"I'll go with you."

Finally he began to catch up with her, and she looked at him sideways. "That has to be the first time in a few years that you've asked to have lunch with me."

"I didn't have money of my own to take any of you guys out at restaurants a few years ago."

Though she accepted him walking next to her as she headed toward an adobe building selling plain tauren food nearby, she bristled at his implication. "You're not taking me anywhere now. Nobody pays for me; you know my rule."

"Oh come on, what am I, some kind of a stranger over here?" he asked incredulously. "Come on, I'll pay for my sister's dessert at least."

"I don't eat dessert. It's extra money for unhealthy food."

"No, it isn't extra money because I'm paying for it-"

"No."

The two of them walked in to the restaurant and sat themselves at a table - tauren restaurants always had enough room on the seating rugs for people her older brother's size - before they let the miniature argument die out. Barely a few minutes and he was already getting on her nerves, and her creeping suspicion that he would try to send some sort of a message from their mother didn't abate even when the waitress took their orders and returned to the steamy cooking room.

Fried vegetables spiced by chili sauce and wrapped in corn tortillas, a specialty of the herbivorous tauren, caused both siblings' mouths to water, and the issue of who would pay for what was pushed to the wayside as they drank precious fresh, filtered water and caught wiffs of chili sauce wafting out of the cooking room.

"This place cooks some great stuff; I don't think we'll eat like this at mom's this weekend," Julando remarked in between sips, immediately confirming Zulwatha's suspicions that he'd been sent there by their family. "It's not a huge ordeal, it's more to get the family together than anything."

"Sounds great," she replied, trying to keep her sentiments and comments to herself. She continued to drink more of her water, and although her brother didn't look directly at her, she could tell that he was trying to gauge her response by his lack of movement.

"Quetzal and Dex won't be there, but it will still be a nice dinner," Julando continued, talking for the sake of talking as she began to feel that he was searching for a reaction.

"I'm looking forward to it."

Momentarily giving up, the oldest sibling fell silent again. Of all the family members, Julando and Mira had been the only ones to keep in touch with her during the height of her quarrels with their mother. Mira was the closest to her; her daughter, Rima, was named as a sort of tribute to the woman. Though Julando had distanced himself from Zulwatha after she moved out on her own, he still asked about her and even visited Mira sometimes as an excuse to see her. That didn't mean he was willing to defend her before their parents, however, which had soured Zulwatha toward him; perhaps more than it should have, she admitted to herself. He had never done anything to her directly, and for sure he was under pressure not to contradict all their mother's criticism of the disobedient daughter, but the fact that he never stuck up for her had hurt her more than he or she had expected.

Feeling contrite, she turned to face him, finding him looking up to see her quickly. "Thanks for coming along," she conceded, trying to take solace in the fact that even if he never defended her, he at least wasn't antagonistic like their younger brother.

In a flash, his eyes lit up at the comment, and his body language loosened. A simple man and by no means deep, it took little to make Julando happy, and her lingering resentment was at least mixed in with relief that he at least disagreed with their parents' inside his heart.

The door was opened, and he became bolder. "Mom is glad that you're finally going to visit," he said, his expression blank and unreadable.

For a few seconds she closed her eyes and tried to separate the comment from the commenter. Much less independent than herself, Mira or Quetzal, he was likely just a reluctant messenger for their mother as the woman tried to renew her mind games. "I was always ready to visit; mom never invited me."

"The house is always our house," Julando replied shyly and dispassionately, referring to their parents' household. "Any of us can go to visit any time."

"Julando, do you remember at all what mom said after I moved out? The things she said-"

Saved by the bell, the waitress came and set the communal plate down for the two siblings to eat, cutting short a sentence that Zulwatha surely would have regretted. The food smelled incredible, and her bubbling irritation at her brother's ostrich like behavior was swept away by the salient, sizzling scene of spicy chili.

Just as hungry as her, Julando forgot the conversation and the two of them both devoured their food rather quickly. The two of them had almost finished before he had the chance to speak again.

"I'm buying you dessert," he insisted.

"No."

"I'm buying it. Waitress!"

"I said no."

"Waitress, we need flan covered in caramel over here!"

"Stop yelling across the restaurant, the servers at these places work really hard."

"Two saucers of it!"

"Are you even listening to me?"

"I'm paying for dessert."

"Julando I'm being serious, you know my rule!"

"Don't care. Waitress!"

"She already heard you, just leave the woman alone!" Once the irritated waitress disappeared into the cooking room, Zulwatha succeeded in getting her brother's attention again. "Don't shout in public like that, they'll think we're river people."

"Your kids are half river people."

"What! Why would you bring that up!" she snapped, old memories of a topic she considered off limits flowing back to her.

For a second he just stared at her like a deer in the headlights of a dwarven war machine, but eventually he realized why she was upset. "Oh...Thawa, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up your ex. Man, that's wrong of me-"

"It was a slip up. Please don't do it again," she replied, her lips pursed together tightly. "Especially not at mom's house."

The disgruntled waitress brought out the flan, and after Zulwatha apologized to the furry, horned woman profusely, the two siblings slowly began to eat their dessert. This time, Julando didn't simply scarf everything down in as few bites as possible. "Mom gets stressed out sometimes. She likes the house to be a happy place."

"She likes to be happy herself. Everybody else needs to focus on making her happy."

"Come on, Thawa."

"If she starts to say bad things about me at dinner, what will you do?" Zulwatha asked bluntly.

"Mom isn't going to say bad things; she's the one trying to get everybody together for dinner."

"She's done it before. You know she has. Will I just sit there and be insulted?" After pausing for a second, Zulwatha spoke again quickly before her brother could launch into another denial. "Don't say she won't, because she did all the time, before."

Staring at his flan, Julando already looked lost and confused and he hadn't even been faced with pressure from two opposing sides yet. For all his age and stature, he still wasn't as independent as his sister. "No, you won't," he replied quietly, not exactly convincing her that she could count on him. "But please...your kids and mine will be there. This should be a happy time. Sometimes she says negative things to all of us; try to ignore it for just one night, and then you don't have to listen to it for another few months."

Easier said than done, she thought. Still, it was the most he'd done to try and find a solution for mitigating the problems he knew that their parents caused at such gatherings, which was a weird form of progress in a way. Enjoying the caramel more than she'd expected, she tried to slow down and focus on the moment - and the flan - and push the thoughts and worries about the upcoming dinner out of her mind.

"Thanks, Julando..." By the time she'd looked up from her dessert, she realized he'd managed to stand up without her seeing and was already in front of the cashier. "Julando, nobody pays for me!" she shouted like a river person as she jumped up and tried to pull coins from her purse before it was too late. If only he could be as doting an older brother as this when the time came to face the family, she thought.


	4. Small Talk, Big Talk

With only a day before the first visit to her mother in quite a long time, Zulwatha found herself hurrying everywhere she went. She couldn't justify why, but no matter what she did, she felt rushed.

On the evening before the visit, she found herself no less frantic as she tried to scrub the melted, processed cheese and unhealthy amount of imported Azsharan syrup from the only three dinner plates she owned. Since she was an employee, she could buy anything from the workshop at half off the marked price. And since all of her kitchenware was, consequently, made from clay, doing the dishes from a bucket of rationed brackish water and a spongy piece of coral consumed much of the family's time in the evening.

Or, her and her daughter's time, to be exact. Her son wasn't trustworthy with breakable items yet, given the fact that he'd dropped plates or cups every time she'd tried to train him to wash the dishes. Instead, she relegated him to bagging any paper waste or other refuse in their modestly sized front and back yards before penning the single chicken that Mira had given to them as a gift two days earlier.

At least having reached her day and a half long weekend - she'd been released from work after her lunch break, per the usual, unlike most of the city's working class who had only a single day weekend - she could finally slouch a little bit more and admit to herself that her heels and lower back were a bit sore. Clinics had dropped prices under some program enacted by the new leadership in Orgrimmar, though she didn't quite understand how it all worked and, frankly, was too afraid to see a witch doctor and find out what exactly the problems might be. The betel nut she tended to chew when nobody was looking probably wasn't good for her health either, but it at least provided enough of a buzz for her to ignore the slight aches and pains and just go to sleep.

Once they'd just about finished rinsing out the cups of the cantaloupe juice stains, her ever perceptive daughter began to talk while focusing on hanging the dishes to dry on the back porch, multitasking like a small adult.

"Mama, we haven't seen grandma in a long time," Rima remarked casually as they tested the balance of the drying rack made of sticks and branches locked and tied together.

"Yes dear, I'm sure that she'll be delighted to see the both of you tomorrow. You know how grandma always loves to cook that lemon meringue for you."

The two of them finished laying out all the kitchenware in the rack, leaving them with a bit of quality time before Makara finished his chores. Since he was nowhere to be seen, he was likely straightening up the shrubbery in the front yard, and while Zulwatha didn't play favorites, she did tend to have the most meaningful conversations with Rima when it was only the two of them sitting together. The carpet in the back porch was a bit dusty, but Zulwatha figured she could wait another week before beating it out; the sun had set, the family had eaten and reviewed what Rima had studied at school, and there was little else left to be done save putting her children to bed. These times were often her favorite during the entire week.

Rima, however, seemed to have ideas of her own. The girl sat cross legged next to her mother on the carpet, watching their single chicken peck amongst the disorganized patches of grass, green beans and sunflowers growing in the backyard.

"Mama...aunt Mira talks about grandma a lot," Rima said softly, merely watching the chicken like her mother, completely nonchalant.

Not entirely paying attention to the line of questioning, Zulwatha answered almost absentmindedly. The sitting position allowed her to stretch her back, which had an incredible soothing effect. "Yes, your aunt doesn't have a job, so she helps grandma and grandpa at the house a lot," she replied, closing her eyes and leaning forward. In a way, the position almost felt more soothing than chewing on betel nut.

"But you don't talk about grandma and grandpa that much."

"Hmmm, no sweetie, mama has a job, and we have plenty of work to do here at our own house," Zulwatha chuckled. Her eyes were still closed as they chatted, and the sound of her inquisitive daughter's voice was so pleasant that she almost experienced difficulty focusing on what the girl was saying.

Rima's more direct questions, however, weren't so pleasant.

"Do you and grandma hate each other?"

Zulwatha's eyes snapped open. "Rima, don't use such strong words unless they're really needed," she told her daughter. She'd been completely caught off guard and couldn't even wrap her head around the question.

"But aunt Mira always talks about how great grandma is, and how much she loves grandma. And she goes to grandma and grandpa's house all the time and she says that all my other aunts and uncles do but we only got to meet grandma a few times and you never talk about grandma."

Though Rima didn't appear upset, her speaking had become fast and almost urgent, and Zulwatha was surprised by the sudden passion in the girl's voice. Sitting up straight again, she put her arm around her daughter's shoulder. Perhaps disingenuously, it was more of an attempt to calm the girl enough to change the subject rather than to engage in some heartfelt talk.

"Sweetheart, don't worry. Mama is just busy at work, and when I have free time I want to spend it with you and your brother, just like grandma spent her free time with me, Mira and your other aunts and uncles when we were kids like you. And because Mira isn't as busy as me, she makes sure to keep grandma company so the rest of us don't have to worry."

"Uncle Quetzal eats at grandma's house three times a week, aunt Mira told me," Rima continued unabated. "And the last time we saw uncle Quetzal he was mean to you so if he's grandma's favorite and he doesn't like you, then does that mean that grandma doesn't like you?"

"Okay, Rima, now just hold on a minute," Zulwatha stuttered, now wide awake and scrambling for something to tell her rather perceptive daughter. "Uncle Quetzal and I do like each other," she lied through her teeth and tusks for the sake of appearances, "but sometimes family argues. It's normal."

"Is he going to argue with you on grandma's front lawn in front of the neighbors again?"

Guilt coursed through Zulwatha's veins, bringing back memories of how many nights she'd lied awake, wondering if she'd traumatized her children by engaging in a shouting match with her younger brother in response to his judgmental spite. "No...no, sweetie, I promise that you won't have to see something like that again. That was only one...a few times, and it's over." Zulwatha could tell that her daughter had been bothered by the dinner almost as much as she had been; and just like her, Rima was rather skilled at concealing negative emotions, it seemed. She scooted a little closer and rotated to better face the girl. "Rima, there were some times where not everybody in the family was happy. And those times are a part of life; they never go away for anybody. Part of life is to avoid them the best we can, and to ignore things we find to be rude or inconsiderate, but if disagreement or argument is unavoidable than we deal with them and move on."

Always mature for her age, Rima let a bit of her apprehension show through in her furrowed brow, but otherwise appeared surprisingly in control of herself. "So that means that maybe uncle Quetzal will argue with you tomorrow, and maybe not if we're lucky?" the girl asked in a serious but not necessarily nervous tone.

Since her daughter seemed to understand the more important point, Zulwatha didn't feel guilty about pulling a cop out. "Uncle Quetzal was sent to work in the southern Barrens again; we won't see him tomorrow, sweetie. In fact, none of the family will see him for a few months." When Rima smiled at the news for tomorrow at least, Zulwatha felt that the girl relaxed enough for her to drive the central point home. "Eventually we will see him again, and...well, I will be nice to him because people should always be nice. And if he isn't, then I'll just try to ignore him. That's the best way to handle people who act mean."

Although Zulwatha tried her best in raising her children and, she felt, did much better than most would in her situation, there was always that lingering uncertainty due to her lack of experience or help. Because of the way she and her siblings had been raised, she knew that she had no examples of proper motherhood. Her own mother had been controlling, oppressive, uncompromising and emotionally abusive; if anything, their household served as a good example of what _not_ to do when raising children.

In the early months of Rima's infancy and toddlerhood, her mother had been around to help her learn the basics of caring for a child's basic needs - diet, safety, health. At the time of her divorce, however, her ex hadn't even met Makara yet since he'd been working in the northern Barrens, and the acrimony settled in between her and her mother from that point on. She'd essentially raised her children on her own, with little to no direction and no real example of how a proper mother behaved. Everything she learned, she learned during the process of trial and error.

Whether her efforts succeeded in this case or not depended on how honest Rima's expression and tone of voice were; she seemed reassured, at least outwardly. "Sometimes I feel bad because I love aunt Mira but I don't like to see uncle Quetzal," the girl sighed. "I wish we didn't have to see him again even if I'm not supposed to feel like that about family."

Zulwatha grinned despite her daughter's melancholy. Even if the girl seemed a bit blue in the mood, her thought process was surprisingly mature for her age. "Sometimes I feel that way too, sweetie, but unfortunately life can't always be easy. There are times when we must do things that we don't like and pretend to be happy when we're mad or sad. I don't like it either, but we're not the only people who have to pretend. This is how the world works." She reached out and ruffled the girl's mane. "But not this weekend, at least. Everything is going to be fine." Zulwatha knew that the visit might still lead to drama between her and her mother, but she felt elated enough by Rima's articulation of ideas that it was easy to pretend right after having mentioned pretending. She didn't like it and never would, but it was a skill she knew she'd have to pass on at some point.

Accepting the advice after some fidgeting, Rima seemed to have resolved the issue mentally. "I'm happy for this weekend. But if anybody asks me about uncle Quetzal, I'll tell them that he's mean to my mom and I don't like it."

"I wish your other uncle would speak like you do, dear," Zulwatha chortled while trying to ruffle her daughter's mane again, though this time the girl squealed in resistance. "But leave the serious talk to the grown ups. Kids shouldn't have to deal with these things."

"Thanks mom."

The two of them smiled and fell into a pleasant silence for a few minutes as they watched what few slivers of orange rays had lingered over the horizon. Uneven foot patters reached their ears as Makara walked through the series of huts and walkways leading to the back porch.

"Mama I finished the front yard, can I go to sleep?" the boy asked.

"You still have to pen the chicken and collect a bit of the leaves, dear," Zulwatha replied while standing up. The ache in her lower back had mostly disappeared, and her heels would likely feel better by the morning. "Me and your sister need to empty the wash basin."

"Alright," Makara mumbled in defeat as he began to pick up falled palm fronds by hand and pile them up for biofuel later.

"Come on, Rima; we need to empty the dishwater before we go to bed."

"This is the best part!"

The two of them walked back inside toward the storage hut and grabbed ahold of the large bucket they used for washing. One new aspect of Sen'jin City's development that Zulwatha noticed after the civil war was the drainage system, which she'd heard existed in places like Orgrimmar but had never seen in her entire life. Beneath their home, as well as the other homes built on stilts in the city, lied a cement gutter running sideways toward one of the trenches that delineated the boundaries between each plot of property. Water and other liquid refuse drained downward toward the trenches and then out toward the water retention area that had been built behind the next street. Sanitation had greatly improved in the city and the convenience it lended toward cleaning up around the house was part of why so many people had moved there.

Bit by bit, Zulwatha and Rima carried the bucket low over the floor planks toward a central gap in the middle of their various huts and walkways. The bucket was large enough to fit Rima inside, and spilling it would cause the bottom tier (their only living space, currently) to smell like dishwater and soap for days.

"Alright, tip it little by little, sweetheart," Zulwatha instructed her daughter as they both set the wide bucket down a few inches back from the edge of the gap.

The brackish water poured down into the cement drain and quickly flowed toward the trench just off the property. Combined with the public pump for non-drinking water at the end of the street, doing laundry and the dishes had become immeasurably easier.

"Mama, what did you always do with the water before?" Rima asked.

"Ha! Well, we used to carry the bucket out to the bushes back when you were a baby, and dump it all out there. We had to carry the bucket further and also the bushes would smell."

"Eew."

"We also had to go down to the lake to get water every day, and during the dry season we couldn't always wash everything." The two of them finished pouring out all the dishwater and stored the bucket beneath a shelf full of towels, dried food and other items they could never find the time to organize.

Left with little else to do save relax before going to bed, the two of them moved to the bedroom to begin straightening up. The advantage of hammocks were that the children didn't need to be prodded to make their beds every morning, and Zulwatha only had to worry about her own. Rima moved straight into her hammock strung between two support beams against the wall and pulled one of her alphabet books from where she'd wedged it behind one of the beams.

All things considered, they had developed a good routine for the evenings. It took them all less than half an hour to tidy up around the house before going to bed, and even her son had progressed to the point where he didn't whine about being given chores anymore. When she was a child, five was considered old enough not only for chores but also for taking care of younger children. Perhaps she could just rely on a good night's sleep to rest her heels and the betel nut could be left for another night.

Just as she began to wonder what her son was still doing outside so close to bedtime, the frantic, terrified cluck from the chicken answered her unspoken question.

"Pacoooooock!"

"Makara stop squeezing that chicken!"


End file.
